


Better Than Zero

by BlueMinuet



Series: Liminal Space Extended Universe [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Caretaker burnout, Caretaking, Injury, Kidfic, M/M, Medical Procedures, Temporary Nerve Damage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: Inui is damaged in an EMP, and Kaidou tries to hold things together.





	Better Than Zero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yrindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yrindor/gifts).



> This is vaguely part of the same universe as Liminal Space, but it is not necessary to read one to understand the other. Since large swatches of the AU are not AO3 (yet?) so here's a brief rundown:
> 
> Cyberpunk AU. The 'tenipuri' generation (Inui and Kaidou) are the earlier generation, where the technology that makes the universe run is still developing. The 'yowapeda' generation (Kinjou and Makishima) takes place after, when the technology is more in place and established. (Also, Kaidou and Inui are Kinjou's parents.)
> 
> 'Spider' is the term for the super advanced hackers that plug their minds into networks (Inui, in this case), 'spider busters' are assassins whose lack of tech and body modifications make them able to take on these hackers (Kaidou, in this case).

When Kaidou finds Inui he skids on his normally steady feet, trying to stop but ultimately almost bowling over, just barely catching himself from collapsing on the heap of Inui. Kaidou’s been running—too fast, too hectic—ever since…

He crouches down by Inui. He hesitates when his brain produces the word _body_. He refuses to think about that as a possibility. Inui looks nominally intact, but on a close examination there’s a charring on the skin just over the top of the port. Looking across his shoulders and arms… it’s not quite a burn, not yet. Spider web-like veins radiate out from the port as raised skin, pink now but turning redder, some spots seeming to bubble a little. Kaidou’s unfortunately seen it before, knows what it looks like when a spider’s body is burning from the inside out. 

He reaches for Inui’s wrist. The EMP went off fifteen minutes ago, by his count. He’s not sure where Inui was exactly the moment it went off, how far on the fringe of the blast radius he was. Even on the fringes, the damage can be just as sure as a bullet to the brain. He takes Inui’s wrist in his hands and notices Inui’s fingernails. They’re dirtier than spider work would demand, chipped in some places, and bloodied in others.

Inui dragged himself here. 

Kaidou scrambles to find a pulse, but in his frantic handling of Inui’s had, he finds a sign that’s nearly better. 

Inui winces.  
  


* * *

  
Getting Inui out of blast zone, that had been easy. Kaidou has always felt most confident in jobs where he can rely on his strength and his speed. He’s long since grown used to getting dismissive looks from his fellow muscle, most of whom are modded in some way now. He’s almost considered archaic, by some. Those ‘some’ don’t bank on ending up in the blast of an EMP that can knock out a three city block radius. Kaidou knows the dangers, knows the things that can hobble the technologically modified. He should; he’s been the one wielding said dangers in the past, and whether that’s something he’s ashamed or proud of, he hasn’t quite wrestled with yet. 

Before, surviving such a situation would have been a point of pride for him, something to hiss out derisively the next time some asshole tries to call him outdated. 

That had been before Inui. Before allowing himself to be talked into teaming up with his perfect opposite, a hacker so modded that his entire body is deeply entangled with technology.

Kaidou looks over to his partner now, laid out on his bed, and frowns. Getting him out had been easy. 

The rest is harder. 

Ishida, the only port technician on the company retainer that Kaidou trusts, had said that luckily Inui seemed to have only been on the fringes of the blast zone. As far as good news went, it could have been better. The port system was still mostly fried, but with the state Inui was in, a replacement was out of the question. Removing the technology from him could easily kill him, just as easily as leaving the dysfunctional tech in could. 

An entire network of wires were fed into Inui’s skull, supplementing what functions it could, to keep him stabilized long enough to heal up in order for the port system to be replaced. Kaidou had given up his entire bed to the process, refusing to let Inui just rot in hospital bed. Many had told him he was being unreasonable, but he snarled and hissed until finally everyone saw it his way. 

Kaidou convinces himself it’s easier this way. Had Inui been in a hospital room, Kaidou would have felt obliged to stay there as often as he could manage. At least this way he can still go about his life as usual in his home. He still spends most of his time by Inui’s side, in a chair, or sometimes asleep on a cot nearby. 

Inui is unconscious most of the time. During the few times he awakes, he’s rarely lucid, often just making incomprehensible noises, or pained gasps. Ishida had said it would be hard to tell how much of his senses like sight and hearing would be intact at this point. His eyes would certainly need to be replaced, the light that normally spilled from his cybernetic replacements flickering like a strobe light when he managed to activate them at all. 

Kaidou is nearly nodding off in the chair, when he hears a sound in the next room over, not quite a scream, but still in need of attention. He spares a look at Inui before he gets up and attends to his other responsibilities.  
  


* * *

  
“Da?” 

Kaidou gives his toddler a dubious look as he sits him at the table. “Wait here,” he says, ignoring the question. “I’m fixing lunch.” 

He doesn’t walk far, the kitchen counter just a few steps away, and Shingo watches him with his eyes. “Da?” 

Kaidou frowns, and blinks something out of his eye. It makes sense, he thinks. Inui’s been here for most of Shingo’s memory. It would make sense that the toddler would be confused. Clearly he has some inkling that Inui is here, and it’s probably the longest he’s gone without seeing Inui, unless he was on a mission. 

His frown is even deeper knowing that he can’t quite put a finger on when Shingo started referring to—or at least, attempting to, in his developing speech patterns—as ‘Dad’. He’s fairly certain he never specifically encouraged it. 

He definitely never discouraged it though. 

“He’s sick,” Kaidou says, finally, after realizing he’s been staring into space for at least a beat, and he cuts the sandwich he’d been working on into fours and sets the plastic plate in front of Shingo. 

Kaidou had been adamant that it was not a problem, tending to both Inui and Shingo at the same time, but he can’t help but admit—in the privacy of his own mind, at least—he feels spread thin. Especially since he prefers not to have Shingo be around Inui in his condition, though he knows there’s really no logical reason for it. And as he gets more tired, the balance becomes harder.

“Da okay?” Shingo asks again. Kaidou has no idea how to address that. ‘Sick’ is close enough an approximation. ‘Hurt’ might be more accurate, though he isn’t in a position to start explaining more. 

Kaidou frowns. “He will be,” he says, and hopes he isn’t lying.  
  


* * *

  
Inui whimpers in his sleep. Kaidou tries his best, makes sure the IV drip is administering the painkillers. From his understanding, it’s a moot point, but it can’t hurt.

Port systems permeate the user’s body at every level. Intercepts every impulse sent between brain and body. In a working port system, this means that all sensation, even pain, is merely just an option. A tool in the toolbox. In a broken system, in one this deeply fried, it means that there are no options whatsoever. The body and brain are subject to the whims of their shoddy intermediary, interpreting any stray impulses as any measure of pain, with no guarantee a numbing agent would even be registered. 

Inui whimpers. 

And Kaidou can’t manage to block out the sound.  
  


* * *

  
Kaidou snaps awake, not realizing that he’d started to doze off. He realizes he awoke from a sound, but he can’t match it to anything in particular, at least not while half asleep. He looks around, before finally catching sight of a shadow at the door. He sees Shingo appear, toddling through the doorway, almost to the bed already. He sits up, considers saying something, but ultimately just sighs. 

Shingo is an inquisitive toddler, and it had only been a matter of time. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looking at the mass of wires with a wide eyed wonder. 

“Don’t touch,” Kaidou says firmly. “Do you understand?” he asks when Shingo doesn’t respond. 

Shingo gives a nod to that, though the way his eyes look at the mass suggested that he might still be considering it. Instead, he paws at the bed, and tries to pull himself up. 

“Careful,” Kaidou says. 

“Okay,” Shingo mutters as he pulls himself up. 

“Inui is hurt, so don’t touch him,” Kaidou says. 

“Why?” 

Kaidou frowns. He hadn’t been prepared to give more of an explanation than that. “If you touch him, it might hurt more.” 

Shingo’s look is still curious. Kaidou knows that he wouldn’t be able to fully understand the situation, but he’s still a bright kid. Shingo makes a patting motion at Inui, but only bats the air around him. 

“Get better,” Shingo says, and Kaidou almost laughs, though whether it’s from pure exhaustion he can’t say. 

When he looks up again, he’s surprised to see Inui’s hand raised. Not much, just barely, almost too slight to notice. But his hand swishes in the air for a minute, before it blindly grazes against Shingo’s arm. It backtracks, catching Shingo’s arm fully this time, though weakly. 

“I’ll try,” Inui croaks, and Kaidou nearly falls off his chair. 

Shingo, on the other hand, is grinning ear to ear. He leans in closer to Inui, and seems to have taken the demand to be careful to heart, and turns a would-be hug into a gentle pat. 

“Are you…” Kaidou starts, but has no idea how to finish the thought. 

Inui groans. “On a scale of one to ten? Ten being optimal?” He hums. “A one at best.” 

Kaidou sits back down on his chair, but scoots closer. “Well… it’s better than zero.” 

“Vastly,” Inui agrees.  
  


* * *

  
Kaidou finds himself reading Shingo’s bedtime stories in the bedroom with Inui. It’s a time saver, if only because for the first time since this process started, Kaidou doesn’t feel the ever nagging worry about what’s going on in the room he’s not in. 

Inui is communicative enough to find a position where Shingo can curl up against him without brushing against any of his burned tech, and the toddler is nearly asleep at his side, though seeming to fight going down, as if afraid to miss anything. 

“You should sleep,” Inui mutters, and for a moment Kaidou isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to. 

“I’ll sleep later,” Kaidou murmurs, even though his head is fully slumped onto the edge of the bed now. He pushes the picture book aside, and doesn’t feel the energy to do anything else with it. 

“Have you slept at all?” 

Kaidou mutters something, but it’s lost to the plush of the bed if it was even fully words to begin with. In Kaidou’s head, it’s a mess of words all tumbling out at once. About how Inui has no room to talk, and how should he be able to tell anyway? 

Inui blindly reaches around, just as he hand when Shingo first climbed up on his bed, and by the time it finds Kaidou’s head, he’s almost too asleep to notice anyway. 

For the first time since the blast, it feels easier.


End file.
